


Bottle Full Of Charm

by LaLainaJ



Series: Make Some Noise [90]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Rivalry, Subterfuge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8399893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaLainaJ/pseuds/LaLainaJ
Summary: Co-Owner of a tattoo parlor Caroline's very proud of the business she's built and very protective of the neighborhood that's helped it flourish. When she gets wind of changes coming her way she decides to investigate.





	

**Bottle Full of Charm**

**(Inspired by a Tumblr graphic! A slight twist on the florist/tattoo artist trope that I LOVE. Title from "She-la-na-gig" by PJ Harvey. Rated T).**

It's a pretty Tuesday in early fall when Caroline spots _them_ for the first time.

She's in a great mood, would probably be humming if she wasn't in public. It's the kind of morning where she was walking more slowly than she usually would, a stroll rather than a purposeful strut, to savor the perfect crispness in the air. She sips her morning coffee with her head tipped slightly back to bask in the faint warmth coming from the sun.

Had she known what was about to transpire, that a hiccup in her life was just around the corner, she probably would have paid more attention to her surroundings.

The street her shop is on is quiet this time of day, most of the businesses have few employees and they're just starting to arrive to prep for openings.

Sass Monsters Ink ( _not_ Caroline's pick but drunk Kat had thought it hilarious and it had somehow ended up on the permit forms and then they'd been stuck) is near the middle of the block. Their doors open at 10 but Caroline usually tried to be there by 9 to look over the day's appointments, take care of any lingering bookkeeping and check the messages. Bonnie and Enzo, the two artists they'd taken on last year when the workload became too much, alternated who would show up first to take any walk ins.

Kat usually breezed in a half hour before her first appointment to check that her apprentice had set everything up to her satisfaction. After his first week Matt had figured out Kat's preferences so it wasn't really necessary for Kat to be early but Caroline thought she just liked to mess with him. Matt was a blue eyed hottie who didn't look like the type to be into tattoos (not that Caroline could judge – she'd gotten plenty of surprised exclamations once she unveiled the ink that ran along down her body, often covered by a personal style that leaned slightly preppy). Caroline was _really_ hoping Katherine didn't sleep with him. Their shop was tiny but flourishing and she had no desire to have to draft any workplace fraternization rules. Bonnie and Enzo were flirty and adorable and Caroline did _not_ want to mess that up. It was too entertaining.

Caroline hadn't been on a date in forever. She thought she deserved a little vicarious romantic living through others who were having more success in that department.

Their little neighborhood is eclectic (some might snidely call it hipster) with independently owned cafés and bookstores and shops lining the streets. As much as small town life had chafed at Caroline when she'd been a teen dying to get out of Mystic Falls she kind of loved the slice of it she'd found here. She knows all the other owners by sight, can stop and have a conversation with just about any of them.

It's when she looks up to wave at Alaric, who owns a rare bookstore (and if she's pretty sure he spikes his morning coffee with a healthy slosh of booze Caroline tries not to judge), that she spots something out of place.

A black SUV. It's huge, the windows darkly tinted, the rims so shiny Caroline imagines she could easily apply lipstick in their reflection. It looks freaking expensive (and it's so not eco conscious) and it sticks out like a sore thumb among the bike racks and the few reasonably sized vehicles - mostly old models or new hybrids - that line the street.

Maybe someone was lost?

It's parked in front of what used to be a gelato shop (Caroline really missed the sweet old couple who had run it, and their habanero flavor – weird on paper but she still _craved_ it) that had been vacant for going on four months. A steady stream of prospective buyers had trickled in and out, but so far no firm interest. Caroline had cornered the real estate agent early on, looking for anything she could use. It was only smart, _conscientious_. The wrong neighbors could hurt her business, the right ones could give them a boost.

A little flirting had wielded some useful info – apparently the wiring in the place desperately needed to be redone, making it an investment that was proving to be a hard sell despite the prime location.

The agent had boasted that it would be a minor setback, that he was confident he'd have someone settled in the property within the month. He'd been a little oily and a lot condescending so Caroline couldn't say she felt bad about him being was so very wrong.

She'd tossed his card the second she'd been out of his line of sight and she'd been careful to avoid him ever since.

To continue that streak, she really needs to quit dawdling. Casting one last glance at the SUV Caroline hurries across the street, juggling her coffee, the croissants she'd picked up to share (hopefully it was Enzo's day to open because she _would_ fight Bonnie for the chocolate one) while she fishes her keys out of the bag. She's almost got them when she hears the bell across the street jangling and she glances up from her bag. She has a decent view in the reflection of her shop's window, sees three men – one she recognizes as Damon the incompetent real estate agent – and two she doesn't think she's ever seen before.

Caroline observes them closely (hey, it's recon, okay?), filing away what she can and hoping they don't notice her. One of the unfamiliar men is dark haired and they're both wearing what look to be very well tailored suits though the one with fairer hair has discarded his jacket. She can't hear what they're talking about, but _they are_ talking, lingering just outside the shop's door.

Caroline was pretty sure that meant they hadn't dismissed the place outright like most others had. Ugh, if only she could stomach another conversation with that Damon guy. Then she could weasel their names out of him, what kind of business they were in, and do some google stalking. She debates falling on her sword and going over there anyway – it's not like she can't shut down his come ons - but decides it's not worth it. For all she knew the two suits were just being polite and she'd never see them again.

She'll reevaluate if they happen to make a repeat appearance. Until then she was going to try her best not to worry about it.

Key word being _try_.

* * *

The suits came back the next week.

Unfortunately, Caroline hadn't been there – she took Wednesdays off. But the small town atmosphere meant everyone knew everyone's business so she'd heard all about it. Suits stuck out, only seen around the neighborhood on the occasional business type who wandered over on a lunch break. When Caroline stopped by the cheese shop Thursday before she headed home she was given a play by play though not the kind she would have preferred. She'd been given plenty of details but few of them were all that helpful. The scoop was that they'd hung around for almost an hour, had conferred out on the side walk and had been intent on a tablet. Caroline had pressed for a description, got one that generally matched the one in her head (with the added bonus of finding out that one of the suits had excellent dimples and if Mrs. Bellanger had been twenty years younger she would have attempted to, 'Ride it like she stole it,").

Slightly scarring and Caroline thanked her pageant background for her ability to smile politely through just about anything.

Unfortunately, no one seemed to have had caught a name – personal _or_ professional.

Seriously, did no one but her _care_ about the balance of their street? What if it was direct competition for someone? She'd bet Mrs. Bellanger wouldn't be so blithe if someone else were to start shilling fine imported cheeses. What if it was something awful like a vape shop? Some place that only sold golf equipment?

Or worse, a _franchise_.

They had a delicate, _flawless_ ecosystem set up. Caroline was very pleased with how business was going, the steady uptick in tattoos their shop did. She had money earmarked for Christmas bonuses and the upgrade fund got a little extra padding every month. The desks and cabinets she'd thrifted and painstakingly restored with her own two hands worked with the shop's aesthetic, made people feel comfortable, and softened the clinical look of the black leather tattoo chairs. Occasionally they weren't entirely functional (no matter how much she'd sanded the one at the front desk _still_ stuck), however. She'd been hoping to replace them by the end of the year.

Caroline couldn't do that if something awful popped up and screwed with the good thing she had going.

It seemed like the old adage was true. If Caroline wanted something done _right_ , she was going to have to do _all_ the heavy lifting.

She manages to smile absently as Mrs. Bellanger wraps up her gruyere. She's already making lists in her head, considering avenues of research.

Good thing she can eat the grilled cheese with one hand because there's no way she was going to be able to wait until after dinner to start planning. Caroline had never been very patient when presented with a project, and few things were as important to her as the business she'd built.

She wasn't going to allow _anything_ to mess with it.

* * *

Annoyingly, the research quickly hit a wall. Caroline had attempted endless online searches, read countless blog posts that mentioned her neighborhood or her street hoping for some little whisper about interest in a vacant storefront. She stayed up way later than she should have but found absolutely nothing. No dots that could be connected or paths that she could follow.

A setback, she told herself optimistically. Not a defeat.

The next evening she switched tactics, filled a spreadsheet with options. Ways she could advertise, spread the word about Sass Monsters, possible ideas for cross promotional opportunities with nearby businesses. Kat hated tattoo conventions, she liked to take her time with bigger more elaborate pieces now that she had the name recognition to do so, but Caroline thought she could wheedle her into one. Katherine was a tough nut to crack but Caroline had long since realized that she had a soft gooey center for a select few people. Caroline was well aware she was on that short list and she took great pains not to exploit it too often – and Kat could usually be needled or blackmailed so it was rarely necessary. But the option was there and Caroline _would_ use it if things began to go downhill.

She went to bed as a decent hour, pleased to feel just a little more in control. Still, the lack of progress in connecting a name to the suits continued to _bug_ her over the coming days. It was always there, in the back of her mind, the knowledge that she just needed one _little_ clue.

She's dwelling on it again when Kat's low whistle breaks into her thoughts. Caroline glances up, dropping the pen that had really been more of a prop considering she hadn't actually been doing anything productive, and glances over the top of the desk.

Kat's been lounging on the chairs in the waiting area, heels discarded and her bare feet propped up on the sill (a habit Caroline had tried to break Kat of, to no avail. At least Matt was good about wiping off the tiny toe prints on the window). Her client's running late, which ordinarily would piss Kat right off but she actually likes this one (he's been seeing her for years and is an excellent tipper). Last time Caroline had checked she'd been idly flipping through a fashion magazine, occasionally asking Caroline for opinions (and then mocking Caroline for said opinions). _Something_ has caught her attention. The magazine's fallen to the floor and she's gazing out the window with a sort of rapt calculation that makes Caroline wary.

Kat's a predator and that particular look usually means she'd spotted something tasty.

Caroline rolls her chair back and rises, circling the desk. "What?" she asks. "Is the hot parking cop back?"

Katherine snorts, "Nope. I think this is even _better_ , if you can believe that."

Surprising. Kat had been a big fan of watching the hot cop bend to write citations and Caroline could admit the dark blue uniform pants he wore did _very_ good things for him.

"Man candy," Kat says as Caroline comes up beside her. "Straight ahead."

There's a little bit of foot traffic but Caroline spots who Katherine means immediately. They do stick out. "The suits," she grouses, crossing her arms. "I can't believe they're back again."

She takes the opportunity to study them now that she has a direct line of sight. They're about the same height, and the dark haired one's clothing is so immaculate, his posture so perfect that Caroline's own spine straightens automatically. His hair is neat, and his full attention is on whatever Damon's saying. The other is not as polite. He's not participating in the conversation, turned slightly away as his eyes scan the street and the people walking around. He's the one with the dimples and Caroline can just make out a hint of scruff on his jaw. He's once again down to just his shirt, jacket draped over his arm, the sleeves of the blue cotton rolled up.

Katherine's head had snapped in Caroline's direction and she wears a faint expression of betrayal, "You've seen them before? And you didn't call me over so I could co-ogle? We've been friends for years, Care Bear. I am _hurt_."

"You weren't here!" Caroline defends herself. "It was early, before we opened. Besides, you can't ogle the _enemy_."

"Um, yes I can. Hate sex is the best sex. Although I maybe you've forgotten that? And why exactly are they 'the enemy?'"

Kat sounds skeptical and Caroline can maybe admit she _might_ be being a little harsh. But something about them pinged her trouble radar and she was _not_ looking for any of that. "This is the third time they've looked at the gelato place. At least. I'm thinking they're buying it and I have zero intel about what they're planning on putting in there and that is completely unacceptable. Come on, look at them. It's probably a freaking Pick Up Artist Emporium or something. We'll be surrounded by fedoras."

Kat has the nerve to throw her head back and laugh. "Easy, General Judgy. They look way too classy for that."

"Maybe that's their business model," Caroline mutters. It's petulant, and probably ridiculous, but her gut instinct stood and she trusted it.

"Caroline, come on. It'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen? I highly doubt they're planning on nuking the block. So what if they buy the place? At least we'll have something pretty to look at."

"Kat, this is not a time to let your hormones run the show."

"Says the girl who hasn't let her hormones run _anything_ in months," Kat shoots back.

Caroline levels her with a glare because low blow. She'd been busy, okay? Two new artists meant tons of new clients meant an uptick in the amount of paper work and bookings Caroline had to deal with. Kat was brilliant at what she did, and Caroline gave her tons of credit for their success. But there was a reason she'd spent her entire career renting chairs in other people's shops (usually for a limited amount of time since Katherine was… an acquired taste) and had a tough time building her own core client base. Kat had little patience for the tedious stuff – order forms and ensuring they met health codes and painstakingly walking people through pricing.

She might have scoffed at Caroline's idea in the beginning but Caroline had been determined, had every base covered, shot down every doubt Katherine had raised. Now here they were, working for themselves, their success growing steadily. And that's how it would _stay_.

Caroline nods to herself, a decision made. She turns away from the window, and faces Katherine. "Switch shirts with me."

Kat's nose wrinkles as she eyes the pale pink floral tank Caroline is wearing. "Ew, no thank you."

"Kat, come on." Caroline walks over to one of the full length mirrors, and pulls her hair out of the bun it had been trapped in. She fluffs her curls around her shoulders. "Didn't you hear me? This is the _third_ time those suits have visited. They wouldn't keep coming back if they weren't interested. And I _need_ to know who they are."

"And that requires my shirt _why_?"

"Duh. Because I don't want them to know who _I_ am. So I'm going to play the dumb blonde, flirt a little. Use my boobs as a distraction to scam more info out of them."

"While I am always a fan of you using your boobs, Caroline, and again, you really should do it more often, I don't get why I can't just go?"

Caroline lets out a disgusted noise and rummages around Bonnie's station for the tube of gloss she knows is there. "I am well aware you have a type, Kat. You've been eying Dark-Haired-And-Stern's perfect ass like you want to take a bite. I don't trust you not to have sex with him in his SUV and forget you're on a recon mission."

Katherine turns to stare out the window again, a wicked smirk curving her lips, "Yeah, you've probably got a point. I would not say no to wrecking that fancy suspension. And ruining him for other women, of course."

Exactly as Caroline had suspected. "Tell you what, if things go badly you can totally let loose, do your worst. Maybe you'll ruin him so badly that he never wants to set foot in this end of the city again after you crush his heart. Then boom, problem solved."

"Or maybe he's my soulmate and we'll get married and move to the suburbs," Katherine deadpans.

She manages to hold her serious expression for approximately three seconds before both she and Caroline burst out laughing. When she manages to calm Caroline repeats her request, "Shirt, Kat. Please? I think I have something nicer in my office if you want."

"Is it pink? You know I hate pink."

Caroline shrugs, "It might be. I like pink."

Katherine lets out a long sigh but obligingly (and shamelessly) tugs her black tank top over her head and tosses it at Caroline. "I'll remember this, Forbes," she tosses over her shoulder.

Katherine almost plows into Enzo who's coming from the back hallway. His brows rise but he seems unsurprised to see his boss walking around the shop topless. "What'd I miss?" he asks curiously.

Turning back to the window Caroline checks to make sure Kat's impromptu peep show didn't raise any brows. No one's staring back so she assumes they're in the clear. "I'll tell you later. Right now I've got a little errand to run."

* * *

She ducks out the back door, takes the long way around. Stops in at the café on the corner and treats herself to a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. She ignores the blatant flirting that Kol, the owner, likes to engage in with basically everyone with a pulse like she always does. He's smoking hot and all but Caroline's never going to go there. She liked his café too much to make herself avoid it if things got awkward. One night stands were easy to find, fried pies that rivaled the ones she'd grown up with were not.

Caroline takes a deep breath as she leaves, checking to make sure that the suit's SUV was still there. She's in luck (or not. Sticking around meant planning, didn't it?) and it hasn't moved. She wanders in that direction, pausing ever so often to pretend that she's window shopping. She pays close attention to what's happening, knows she can't risk approaching while Damon's underfoot. He'll recognize her, blow the whole thing. She's got her fingers crossed that she'll see an opening.

When Damon gets a call and begins speaking urgently into his cell Caroline resists the urge to cheer. She watches him and the suits say a few (hopefully parting) words and shake hands before Damon walks away. When he disappears around the block Caroline takes a chance and moves in for the kill.

She stops directly in front of the two men she was targeting, glancing up at the blank sign over the door. She affixes a surprised expression to her face. She lets it drop, does her best to appear disappointed, and lets out a forlorn sigh.

A voice rings out from behind her, the English accent surprising, "Can I help you, Miss?"

Caroline bites the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. Hook, line sinker. Things were going _exactly_ as she'd planned. She turns slowly, lets a little extra bit of the south creep in when she speaks. "I'm not sure if you can. D'you know if the cute little shop that used to be here moved somewhere?"

It's the fairer haired one who'd spoken and up close she can see what Mrs. Bellanger meant. She tries not to stare at his mouth, but it's well formed and _very_ tempting. She makes a concentrated effort not to look downwards. Rolled up shirtsleeves were a man's push up bra and Caroline refused to be distracted from her mission. "Closed, I'm afraid," he tells her and seems genuinely apologetic, as if he's was actually sorry she'd been let down. "The owner's retired, I believe."

She pouts a little, notes he has no problem letting his eyes linger on _her_. "Darn. I always loved stopping by."

"Are you not from here?" he asks, taking another small step in her direction.

"Nope. I live in Richmond. Just come up occasionally to get away, shop. You know. What about you? You don't _sound_ like you're from around here."

He smiles warmly, "Not originally, no. But I do live in the city. We just bought this building, actually. We're waiting on someone to begin hashing out the renovations we'll need to undertake."

It's a challenge to stay in character. That's _not_ what she'd wanted to here. It meant her options had dwindled, and she had to cross her fingers and send some happy thoughts to the universe that whatever he was planning on putting in his new building wouldn't be disastrous for her.

Caroline returns his smile and closes the distance a little more, their toes nearly brushing. "Oh? And how's _your_ gelato?"

His laugh is quiet, and he sways closer, "Sorry to disappoint, love. But that's not _quite_ the business we're in. How do you feel about flowers?"

Caroline arches a brow, "Don't all women like flowers?"

"Well, not the one's with allergies."

Her smile is real, and she's kind of annoyed. With herself (because she wasn't supposed to _actually_ be flirting!) and with him. Why did he have to be so freaking charming? He was the _enemy_.

"Fair point," Caroline concedes, nodding in mock seriousness. "So you're a florist? Can't say I'd have _pegged_ that." She lets her eyes drop, blatantly checking him out. Her eyes catch on his arms (damn it, she knew better!) and immediately fly back up. Only to stop on what she at first thinks is a discoloration on his shirt across his chest. She quickly realizes that it's a little too uniform and her eyes track it over to his arm. It's a tattoo, and she can't help but want to know exactly what it is. Sue her, it was technically her business. Caroline squints, before she realizes what she's doing and hurriedly looks away.

And now she's blushing. That's just great.

He's been silent while she looked her fill and when she peeks back at him his lips have curled into a smirk. A very smug smirk that widens under her gaze. Caught, she meets his eyes again. "Oh?" he teases, "And what would you have guessed? And mind my delicate ego, if you please."

Yeah, Caroline did not buy that his ego was in any way delicate. This guy was _very_ sure of himself, had oodles of confidence. She tips her head to the side, decides to be a little mean. "Well, based on the suit I'd say some sort of corporate drone? Is that guy your boss?"

"Elijah? Hardly, whatever he might think. Elder brothers are such a trial."

Hmm, an interesting tidbit. A family business _might_ be okay. "I wouldn't know. Only child."

His attention is pulled away from her as another vehicle pulls up to the curb. "Ah, that'll be Marcel." His hand reaches into his pocket and he withdraws a card. He offers it to her. "Most people call me Klaus."

Caroline takes the card, runs her eyes over the name. Then over the _very_ familiar logo. Horror brews in her stomach as she realizes that her worst fears are coming true.

He's not a florist. He's a Mikaelson.

He owns a _chain_ of flower shops. The bouquets they sold were cookie cutter horrors that you could order via a website and have delivered the next day. Made to be identical and uniform. It was the kind of place where employees wore matching aprons and boring white shirts and had _scripts_ to follow when dealing with customers.

Everything her shop, and her neighborhood, were _not_ about.

He _was_ going to bring new people in. _Awful_ people. People like the women who sniffed at Kat's tattoo sleeves and sneered at the healing crystals Bonnie swore by and side eyed Enzo like he was going to lift their purses. They would silently set beady judging eyes on the sort of clients who streamed in and out of Sass Monsters, killing the friendly, welcoming aura Caroline had worked her butt off to create.

Klaus is watching her carefully though Caroline can't quite quantify the expression on his face. Another man speaks from behind them, curious and coolly polite, "Niklaus? Are you ready to get started?"

A brief look of exasperation flits over his features, "One moment, Elijah." He turns his full attention back to her. "I've got to go. It was lovely to meet you, Caroline. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other around."

He moves to brush passed her but Caroline sidesteps, putting herself directly in his path. He nearly stumbles before catching his balance, "Wait a minute. How do you know my name?" she demands.

The smugness has returned and it's infuriating. His hand ghosts over her arm and he leans in, voice dropping, "Why don't you give me a call when you figured it out? I'll tell my assistant to put you right through. I suspect it'll be a delightful conversation."

What did that even _mean_?

He's gone before she can push for an explanation, falling easily into conversation with his brother and the man who'd joined them (also ridiculously good looking and she hoped Kat's client had shown up otherwise Matt would be stuck cleaning drool off the windows). She can feel his eyes on her as she begins to walk away and they stay on her as she makes her way across the street.

Caroline turns at the doorway to the shop, throws one last glare over her shoulder. Klaus has the gall to _wave_ at her.

She swallows down a frustrated scream and resists the urge to stomp away into her office, mindful of the fact that they have clients currently having permanent ink shoved under their skin. Distractions were never a good thing in such situations.

Kat's in deep concentration mode, thankfully. "How'd it go?" she asks absently, as Caroline walks in.

"I'll tell you later," Caroline tells her, making her way towards the back. "I need to do some research." Right after she had a silent, _private_ , freak out.

Then she'd get to work.

He'd known her name somehow. That meant she had some catching up to do. Caroline was going to find out everything she possibly could about Klaus Mikaelson, his family, his company.

Then they'd see who walked away from their next conversation with a _smile_.


End file.
